


Letters make things move, numbers tie them down

by ifreet



Category: Star Trek (2009), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The One Where Bones is a Librarian and Dean introduces Castiel to Cupcakes. AU to Star Trek by several light years.</p><p>(Written for sisterofdream, based on two of her prompts.  The Venn diagram of intended audience and interested parties is assumed to be a circle, but I'm posting anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters make things move, numbers tie them down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sisterofdream](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sisterofdream).



"Hi, I'm with the Tribune, doing a little research into Jackson, and I was hoping to look through the local papers, get a feel for the place over time." He smiles winningly and leans against the desk.

Leonard stares at him for a thoughtful moment. The interesting thing isn't that a jeans-and-t-shirt-clad journalist from out-of-town is doing research in his library -- small and out of the way though the town is, there are probably a few points of historic interest. To someone. No, what's interesting is that this guy is absolutely lying through his teeth. Jim has turned that salesman, trust-me smile on him far too often for Leonard to ever take it at face value on anyone else.

But more importantly, Leonard doesn't actually _care_ , provided he doesn't damage anything. "Recent issues are archived electronically," he says, waving at the computer, an ancient-looking box that looks like it's still running DOS -- but _only_ looks like it. Jim had been at it, or they'd have found the funds to replace it. "Older periodicals must be requested through the reference desk." He waits until Trust-Me starts looking around for the sign. "That's me. The microfiche reader is over there; if you want to check out any fiche, you'll have to leave your ID."

***

"What?! Lemme see that."

Leonard closes the book on his finger, leans further back in his chair, and contemplates the ceiling for a moment. He _could_ just let it go. It's not like the place is hopping at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, so no one is likely to complain about the noise. Though not reacting could set a bad precedent if the 'journalist' and his friend are planning on sticking around town for awhile.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

Okay, no. Loud exclamations are one thing; loud cussing is another. He stands and stomps over to shush the library's only current patrons. "Keep it down, kids," he drawls.

Trust-Me glares up at him -- he's hit a nerve there, but Leonard always figured if you didn't want to be called a kid, then you shouldn't act like one. His quieter friend continues rifling through one of the books at high speed. Leonard eyes him with some concern -- the pair have a number of older books on the table, and while none of them are valuable enough to justify pulling from general circulation, some of the pages are growing fragile with age.

"Be careful with those," he adds and returns to his desk.

***

The after school rush, such as it is, keeps Leonard busy enough that he doesn't notice the out-of-towners are back until Christine asks about them. They've been quiet.

He glances over and sighs. Too quiet, apparently. In addition to their fort of books, he notices a number of cellophane wrappers on the table and a cupcake in the quieter one's hand. They can't even bother to try being sneaky. He goes to loom over them with a scowl. "Don't they have libraries where you're from?"

"No," Trust-Me's quiet friend says plainly, offering it as a pure, unadorned fact as he studies his snack cake. The statement stops Leonard in his tracks, torn between 'you poor thing' and 'what are you, an alien?' Then he cracks the cupcake in half -- crumbs going everywhere -- and removes the filling with his tongue with an intense focus that renders the act obscene.

There is a moment when both he and Trust-Me are in total, gaping accord.

Leonard recovers first. "Right. No food in the library. Out."

***

They're back the next day, of course, and Leonard is torn between exasperation and vast amusement at the way Trust-Me's eyes keep drifting from the page to It's-Always-The-Quiet-Ones' mouth and snapping back if It's-Always-The-Quiet-Ones happens to look up. He catches him at it once or twice, favoring him with a puzzled frown before returning to flipping through books.

There are books to shelve, and shelves to dust, and recalcitrant patrons to call (Jim suggested an automated phone system, but where's the fun in not terrifying overdue borrowers himself?), and Leonard is not spending his day watching them. But he's not going out of his way to avoid them, either. The pair do their little not-looking dance again, and Leonard can't help rolling his eyes. Trust-Me notices and glares at him. He raises an eyebrow questioningly. Trust-Me tips his chin up belligerently to ask, "We got a problem?"

It's-Always-The-Quiet-Ones looks up in evident surprise.

And Leonard is beyond amused now but that can only be taken badly, so he manages to keep it off his face and out of his voice, as he answers drily, "Nah, no rules against idiocy in the library."

"And if there were, no one would let Bones enforce them." There are warm lips against his neck and a strong arm wrapping around his lower back, and Leonard lets himself lean into it for a moment before elbowing Jim away.

"Not at work."

"That's not what --"

"Shut up," he growls and resolutely does not blush nor think of Jim's office at the university.

Jim grins hugely and turns his attention to the visitors. "What kind of idiocy?" Leonard notices that the wind's been knocked from Trust-Me's sails and feels the mix of satisfaction and embarrassment that's become increasingly common since taking up with Jim.

"The kind that's none of your business," Leonard replies, an act of kindness even if Trust-Me might not realize it. Let them work it out in their own time, not Jim's.

"Too bad, that's my favorite kind."

He snorts. "Right, because you have a _favorite_. Quit bothering the patrons, and come pretend to be useful instead of decorative." And then, before Jim can say it, "Not at work."


End file.
